Remnant of Autumn

At first for a little while, the weather cannot decide.

It wants to be cold but it still wants to be warm too. And so do I.

Weather, I buckle up for the wild windy ride you’re about to take me on.

Shake the perfect red leaves on trees, make them dance like little hula girls.

Marigolds, oranges and yellows, but it's far too cold for them to be there and they know it too. We shiver together. We forgot all Summer what it felt like to be cold.

Quaking in the wet windy sidewalk, I see my breath for the first time. My shoes wet and uncomfortable now.

The weather almost wants me to run inside and make my home cozy.

Nest like the squirrels and the birds, Little One.

My face beaten red by the cold,

I stand mesmerized at the kitchen sink window staring at the oranges darkened and brightened by foreshadowing grey clouds.

Winter's on its way.

There's a cold mist of drizzle permeating the air; any warmth of Summer all gone from it.

There’s no sign of the seasons we've just had in the freezing misty fog covering trees that were now gone to the cold.

I breathe in the new air.

Thank you for the Summer and the Fall.

And I close the book bindings on those chapters.

The trees are no longer warm, they feel utterly cold to the touch. The bark shows they have braced themselves for the winter to come. They have no warmth left to give.

There are less crickets, less cicadas, and the birds are busy nesting.

It was from underneath a trashbag I heard it. It stopped me right in my tracks.

Hear the groaning

Smell the temperature

Of the Snow’s cold brewing

Far Above.

Images of Santa flying through it in his red outfit come to mind already. Travelling like a Norse God among Thunder Giants, delivering gifts of joy to everyone in the world. What hardship that journey must be.

Tis the season.

I wondered how I would first see those infinite white flakes, hailing at me like stars

Assailing what was left of the Autumn.

It was when Bella walked back inside at work, huge snow flakes all over her hair and coat, the smile on her face impenetrable. It was the only smile we can have when we see the first snow. Her eyes bright with a joy like no other.

Father Christmas was coming.

The blue-hinted clouds with streaks of coppery bronze begin

Evermore making it harder for the one constant in our life to appear.

The Sun dies.

Going out in a lightest yellowy-white golden blaze on its last day of fullness before the Time Change.

“You will see me again,” Great Sun says.

"Be ready. For the Blue Hours I will find you in."

It's the sound of a crunch.

Crunch. Crunch.

Crunch. Crunch.